


Bitter Memory

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Captivity, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Fluff and Angst, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Imprisonment, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Poisoning, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22264522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: The day was warm, the sun was shining as if the gods had lit the most bountiful fire in the sky for all to cherish its golden rays. The birds sang songs like sirens in the canopy above, luring sweet melodies to ensnare the unwitting listener to their beauty. A gentle breeze dances through the meadows, flowers bowing in sweet symphony to the ethereal orchestra of mother nature's most prized performance and yet…Jaskier looked about as pleased as if an alghoul had eaten his childhood dog.--------Geralt ends up in the area of Letterhove chasing a few monster contracts across the countryside but Jaskier is far from pleased at their current course of travel. It isn't until they make it to the town that dark secrets are revealed and Geralt discovers the hidden past of the Pankratz family and their ill intent towards one Julian Alfred Pankratz (Jaskier).
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 132
Kudos: 1539





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pardon any spelling errors. I wrote all of this on my phone so I hope it's nothing too bad. And the tagging isnt entirely finished since I am doing this on mobile, I cant make individual tags to further explain the story line. It will be updated when I can jump on my laptop and add more tags. In the meantime, read and enjoy! This was an idea that came from a discussion about t.v tropes and Jaskier's relationship with his family in the Witcher discord.

The day was warm, the sun was shining as if the gods had lit the most bountiful fire in the sky for all to cherish its golden rays. The birds sang songs like sirens in the canopy above, luring sweet melodies to ensnare the unwitting listener to their beauty. A gentle breeze dances through the meadows, flowers bowing in sweet symphony to the ethereal orchestra of mother nature's most prized performance and yet…

Jaskier looked about as pleased as if an alghoul had eaten his childhood dog.

It was a look that had haunted Jaskier for the last several miles upon hearing their travel plans for the day. The bard had a sour look sunken into his features, brows creased with deep thought as normally blessed silence befell their trek. For the first half hour, he plucked anxiously at the strings on his lute in no particular order or fashion, no lyrics or familiar melodies followed. Just mindless flicks of his fingers before they too fell to absolute silence. It was disturbing for Geralt to witness but any attempts to glean information from the bard resulted in further silence and carefully mumbled excuses that were almost on par with lying to Geralt's face. The witcher could hear the way Jaskier's heart thundered nervously in his chest, could smell the stress induced sweat that beaded down his neck and the uneasy shifting he did when they idled too long. His head hung for a good distance along the path until it became too hilly and uneven for him to ignore. His brows fixed in a firm line of concentration that was unbecoming for the usually graceful bard.

It was a steady build of tension in the air that eventually forced Geralt to halt their progress and make for an early camp for the night. He had hoped to reach the town quickly so he could get the jobs there done and they could move on. Maybe even linger just long enough to restock their supplies and catch some leads on other potential monster contracts in nearby villages.

Jaskier didn't comment still, even with their abrupt stop as Geralt dismounted from Roach and started unpacking their things for the night. He worked on a fire while Jaskier wandered into the woods to gather firewood, an automatic display of routine as he returned with an arm load and settled down on the far side of the crackling fire while Geralt made supper. They ate in silence, Jaskier picked at his helping and seemed to force himself through finishing it before curling up on the other side of the camp. It was far too early for sleep just yet, drawing a line of concern across the witcher's face. 

Geralt crossed the short expanse of their camp to crouch beside the bard. One hand gently resting on his shoulder to draw his attention. Jaskier stiffened at his touch, hiding the briefest of flinches as the witcher's hand pressed against his neck and then his forehead. "Jaskier?" Geralt asked.

The bard barely made a noise. He tilted into the hand that met his cheek, it was hot to the touch and rosy from the rush of blood to his face. A mild embarrassment that was normal enough for the bard when they were close like this. Geralt rarely got intimate so openly and without first prompting from Jaskier himself. 

"Geralt." His voice was soft in answer. Almost defeated. An ache stirred in Geralt's heart as he hazard a guess as to what was ailing his dear friend. A broken heart? Some unfathomable and childish loss that was perceived only in song? No, most of those would be followed by endless mournful songs and tales untold.

"Are you alright? Are you feeling well?" The concern for sickness these days was all too real. Geralt never worried about fever or infection from mundane causes. He was immune to plague and disease. But Jaskier? He was fragile and so very human. It was easy to forget at times, that his time would eventually come when fate would force them to part for good. It was a painful thought that Geralt refused to acknowledge would come to pass.

"It's just a stomach ache is all. Nothing to concern yourself with." Jaskier offered the smallest and weakest smile that Geralt had ever witnessed to grace those beaming features. The bard rarely portrayed anything less than exaggerated exuberance. He was a man of many faces and all of them dramatic and overplayed. This was far from the bard that Geralt had grown fond of over the years and wished to keep tucked so close, so securely by his side. He ignored the fact that, once again, Jaskier had lied to him. The flicker of his heartbeat was something that he forced himself to ignore. 

Jaskier was a man that spoke volumes and would talk the witcher's ear off whether he was willing or not. If there was something he wished Geralt to not know, then he would certainly keep it that way. It was one of the more infuriating aspects of the bard that Geralt has come to terms with. The stubborn side of him that prodded at him incessantly, desiring truth in his answers but no amount of growled threats and shaking would drag them out of Jaskier. As frustrating as it was, Geralt had to trust in Jaskier to feel comfortable enough to turn to him for help.

"Are you sure? If it's anything serious, let me know. Don't be foolish and wait until the last moment." Geralt warned, a steely reminder that lacked the heat it normally would. Jaskier simply nodded his understanding and waited for Geralt to leave him be before rolling back over and tucking himself into a tight ball.

The night was long and quiet. Geralt was restless as he shifted in his sleep, made fitful by the tension in the camp. He could hear Jaskier's breathing, the unsteady beating of his heart when he'd shift and twitch on his bed roll. Yet there was nothing Geralt could do about it but force himself to ignore the anomaly and endure the night. 

Morning came far too slowly and both witcher and bard looked worse for wear as they packed up camp and continued towards the town. Jaskier didn't even take his lute out of its travel case this time, keeping it securely packed away. His fingers curled around the strap of it out of habit as he trudged through forest and field towards the small community. It was a short distance away, easily reached by noon but that didn't ease Jaskier's dreaded look. 

Usually the bard would be elated to hurry to the nearest inn to begin playing his songs and flirting with pretty women. He stayed huddled by Geralt, his eyes scanning the town with all the flighty indecision of a sheep in a field full of wolves. He was twitchy and pale, which alarmed the witcher more.

They managed to reach the Inn without drawing any outward attention. Geralt was leading Roach to the stable with Jaskier tucked close behind, head ducked as if in hiding. Geralt rounded on him after a moment, his concern reaching its breaking point. 

"Do I need to find you a doctor?" His voice was low but sharp as he stepped into Jaskier's space. It wasn't anything new for them, the bard had a lack of personal boundaries when it came to the witcher but this time, Jaskier recoiled as if Geralt had threatened to brand his unmentionables. He stumbled back with a look of shock as if he'd been dragged from some horrid thoughts when another voice interrupted the pair. 

"Julian? Is that you cousin?" Geralt pinned the man who spoke with a piercing gaze, but he was unfazed by the witcher. His attention was fixed on Jaskier who stiffened unpleasantly. His fingers gripped the straps of his lute case until his knuckles were white and all other color drained out of him. "Cousin! Let me see you. Come here." The man approached as Jaskier forced himself to turn around. His lips pulled into the most sorry smile Geralt had ever seen as the man closed in on them. The witcher was tempted to Aard him back. The slimy serpentine grin screamed trouble, like a snake coiled around one's boot.

Geralt watched as Jaskier's cousin approached, pulling him into a stiff hug. The bard had never looked so uncomfortable before, Jaskier who relished in the tight compress of crowds and the endless attention of passersby and the physical affections of complete and total strangers. Now, he resembled nothing more than a wounded animal facing a bear trap when pulled along by his  _ family. _

"Come, come. It's been so long Julian, we really must catch up." He waved a hand dismissively, stroking the dark stubble along his jaw as he continued. "Your parents were actually just discussing your endeavors the other evening. We had heard gossip of your  _ courtly _ accomplishments."

"Ferrant- I uh…" Jaskier's voice trailed when the young man, who appeared a few winters older than the bard, placed a strong hand on his shoulder to start steering him away from the stable. His arm snaking around Jaskier's back to further secure the hold he had on the musician.

Geralt bristled with territory unease, reaching out to snag Jaskier by the wrist and unfurl him from the other man's grasp. Ferrant looked bewildered, his face drawn up into a grimace as he regarded the witcher with cold uncaring eyes.

"Jaskier is a bit preoccupied with other duties at the moment. I'm sure you understand." Geralt spoke firmly, handing their pack to the bard from Roach's saddle. Jaskier eagerly accepted the distraction and looked towards the inn with yearning, his shoulders hunched up like a rock troll on the defensive. Geralt adjusted the swords on his back, slinging the strap over his shoulder as they headed inside the inn, leaving Ferrant looking the equivalent of a wet cat left to the rain.

Jaskier didn't relax until they were safely locked away inside their room upstairs. He melted into the mattress of the singular bed, his lute case slipped down his arm to rest at his feet as he heaved a heavy breath in relief. One hand scrubbed anxiously at his face, his gaze fixed pointedly at the floor while Geralt removed his swords to lay across the small wooden table. He hoisted their belongings up onto the same space and started going through potions and ingredients, taking stock of what he would need to procure should he find an apothecary in town. The silence allowed the pair to settle and for Jaskier to find both his wits and his words again.

Minutes ticked by slowly, a creeping progression timed by the painful beating of his heart fluttering rapidly in his chest. His stomach rolled with sickness in its depths as he struggled against the nausea of being back home. Talking about it was one thing, it was merely a place on a map, most often so far away that whatever minute fears he may have harbored related to it, were simply a fading nightmare he could squash in the late evenings, numbed by strong drink and a good hard fuck. But now, it was all too real a reminder of why he left in the first place. He had walked these streets for only a few minutes and yet, he had already been found by one of his family members. It would be inevitable, that in a few brief hours they would all know and he wouldn't have a prayer at escaping their advances.

"Jaskier?" Geralt's voice was a firm note of structure that dragged the bard from his mindless wallowing. A gentle hand that betrayed the growl in his voice, cupped his shoulder then slowly slid up to caress his neck. "Are you alright?"

Jaskier nodded, a stilted jerky motion that made his head hurt. He sucked in a wavering shaky breath and felt his lungs protest with little pained shudders. He hadn't realized the tightness that settled in his throat or the prickling blurriness that started to shadow his vision. God, he was a mess already.

"Jaskier." His voice had softened further as Geralt knelt before him like the surely knight the bard always saw him as. Those piercing amber eyes, so open and inviting as they pleaded with him to answer. One hand cupped the back of Jaskier's neck while Geralt's other folded the bard's rough calloused fingers between his larger paws. Jaskier watched them mingle and play together, spreading the digits before squeezing in reassurance. It was all he could offer in the moment.

"I'm alright, Geralt." He spoke gently, his voice a brittle sound to his own ears. Devoid of all emotion that normally sparked and danced around his tongue with all the delight that accompanied his music. "I'm just….dealing with some old baggage." He sighed out after another shaky breath.

"I'm going to assume you don't have the best relationship with your family." Geralt offered, an easy enough way out of the situation. 

Jaskier snorted, a bitter cold sound that flitted between them. "That's the understatement of the century my dear friend." Jaskier shook his head, dismissing the conversation at hand for something far more pleasant. 

"I know this is normally not the time for it, but could I bother you for a reprieve from the usual routine. I believe some real food and a warm bath is in order." Jaskier's expression was soft but pleasing, the small pout on his lips was unmistakable. 

Geralt leaned in and pressed their foreheads together in a gentle nudge as he huffed. "I believe that can be managed. Just this once." Geralt was just glad to hear Jaskier speaking again after nearly two days of total silence. Not wishing to look a gift horse in the mouth, he chased it with a warm arm snaked around Jaskier's side. The bard hissed through his teeth as the witcher laid him back on the bed with a small nip to his bottom lip. 

Jaskier huffed as his brown locks flopped into his eyes. His arms looped securely around Geralt's broad shoulders. "It does us no good to start undressing now before we've even ordered the hot water for the bath Geralt."

"Hmmm." Geralt growled lowly, his hands stroking small circles across Jaskier's hips and up along his sides in smooth passes back and forth. "You're a meal to be savored and I am ravenous right now. I'm not sure I can wait another minute."

Jaskier's cheeks burned hotly at that, his hands gripping the witcher's shoulders as the sudden swell of arousal went right to his crotch. He groaned, cursing the gods for the sexual prowess of one very dangerous man and Jaskier's obvious weakness for such things. "Fuck, Geralt. Give me two minutes to order that bath and you can devour me all night long as you so wish."

"Tempting." Geralt rumbled, his warm lips pressing lascivious kisses along Jaskier's throat, suckling dark bruises along their path. The bard squirmed, new life bursting inside him after the last two days of lively paralysis. He was determined to keep Jaskier like this, to erase whatever troubles have shadowed over his mind from this godforsaken town. "You have two minutes. Make it quick or I'll come downstairs and collect you myself."

Jaskier groaned at the imagery, snatched up like some far flung damsel and held in strong possessive arms. Pulsing muscle and exuding nothing more than primal danger. It made for a very uncomfortable lack of space in his trousers. Geralt posted his arm over the bard and gave him enough space to slip free of the wolf's feral grasp. Jaskier stumbled to his feet, nearly tripping on his lute case as he adjusted the disheveled mess of his hair and stopped at the door.

"Time starts now, bard."

"Fuck. Right." And with that, he was racing off.


	2. Chapter 2

"Geralt." Jaskier whined the next morning, rubbing his palm over the little nook between his jaw and his throat where the witcher had peppered such sweet praises and suckling bruises across his flesh, _right where all could see._ The bard adjusted his collar every possible way to try to get more coverage but the marks were still in full view and he could see the smug grin barely hidden on those stoic features as Geralt reorganized his pack and prepared for the day.

"Hm?" The deep rumble sent shivers through the bard very unfairly, a prudent reminder of the three rounds they went through the night before, both before, during and after the bath. Which the latter was inevitable and required a second bath to clean up from. It was quite redundant at that point but it left Jaskier aching in all the right ways after a very attentive evening with his beloved white wolf.

"Normally I'd demand you kiss it better but that is exactly how the problem started. Geralt, I can't walk around town looking like a well ravished wench." Jaskier flitted around the room with growing anxiety as he buttoned his collar up further and adjusted his silks with all the discomfort of a man dragged into court after a roll about in the sheets with the Lord's daughter. It was greatly amusing to the witcher who only snickered fondly and reached over to adjust the collar, unfastening the top to expose the slender curve of the bard's neck outlined by Geralt's handiwork. _And they say witchers have no taste for works of art._

"Relax Jaskier. You'll be fine. Don't be so hard on yourself. You're better than a wench." The small pat on his shoulder was a mocking reassurance as Geralt winked at him with that pleasantly teasing smile that was so rare and disarming that the bard almost missed the jest directed towards him. He frowned after a moment and reached out to swat one of Geralt's god given well chiseled pecs. His palm bounced against the hard muscle and almost dared to linger a moment. But alas, it was the next day and Geralt was eager to get this contract done just as much as Jaskier was desperate to leave this shithole town.

"What's the contract for this time?" Jaskier asked, genuinely curious about what they were up against. He didn't recall the area being home to much and very few monsters strayed this far towards the village. "Werewolves in sheep's clothing? Drowners in the swamps? Ooh! I know! A doppler!"

Geralt shook his head in dismissal for each one. "No, just a specter it seems. Some kind of wraith that popped up in recent years." It was as much as the contract on the notice board had informed and he had to find the owner of the notice to get more information. Luckily, they were most likely to hang out in the tavern which made Geralt's search easier.

Or, so he thought. 

  
  


When he managed to drag Jaskier down the stairs to the lower level where other civilians were already starting their days and consuming a hearty breakfast, Geralt asked for the owner about the contract holder while they waited for their own breakfast. He was informed that the contract holder had gone missing the night before but word was someone else was picking it up in their stead _and_ increasing the reward price.

"That's quite generous of them." Geralt rumbled out as Jaskier sat perched on the bench beside him, picking the strings of his lute as he adjusted the seemingly already impeccable tune of the strings. Most folks wouldn't notice it was off kilter, as Jaskier tested the strings and listened with a fascinating depth of attention and intense concentration. It took Geralt sometime to train his own ears to hone in on the subtle differences in the strings when Jaskier would adjust to play. It was both fascinating and impressive, drawing the Witcher to only adore his bard even more for the complicated intricacies garnered by his music. His quit wits with words, the delicate scripts he can sum up in mere moments for intricate and beloved ballads forever catchy for all time. He was more than just a simple entertainer. A true master of his craft that Geralt had grown so fond of over the years of traveling together.

The waitress set their meals before them, placing piping plates of a hearty farmer's breakfast before them. Jaskier only stopped long enough to inspect his tray, picking a few pieces of potatoes to chew on while he proceeded to tweak the notes until he was completely satisfied. He straddled the bench with his back turned towards Geralt, nearly resting against the witcher's side in the meantime. Geralt didn't mind the closeness one bit, reveling in the warmth of the slender weight tucked against him while he dug in more greedily into his meal.

After several minutes of silence, Jaskier set his lute down and cocked his head to the side. In his peripheral, Geralt caught the briefest hint of a grimace. Barely noticed from the angle the bard was at and what little bit he could see of his face. The little stuttered thump of his heart picking up in pace was loud and clear in the witcher's ears. "I'd hate to be presumptuous but given past experiences, it'd be hard to ignore how this smells like a trap." 

"My thoughts exactly." Geralt confirmed with a low grunt. His piercing gaze swept the room, sussing out any suspicious activity his enhanced senses could pick up. But the place was rank with the usual smells of busy farmers and travelers, the bitter sour odor of sweat and refuse prickled his nose. The mix of hearts gathered in one place, a man with a smoker's lung raspy and wheezy in the corner, trails of tobacco nipping the air from his presence. A young woman with an irregular heart murmur bustling around the tables to clear away the dishes from the last crew of workers that had left. A small steady ticking of a young man, sickly pale and pouring over a book like a common scholar. In between were the usual rough and tumble crowd of village folks that move in and out on the regular. Young, old, healthy, sickly, fit and fragile.

He parsed out the familiar from the not, his attention to detail tracking each scent and sound until one caught his attention. Approaching from just outside. Geralt took a long draught of his ale as the door opened and a familiar figure stepped through, cloaked in a dark heavy forest green fabric, hood drawn low even for this weather. The sun was bright outside, breaking through the early morning fog that rolled over the fields with a golden ambient glow. The distant sheep bleated and bayed as they grazed freely in the safety of their pastures. The morning chill ignored in favor of the afternoon's coming heat.

"Your cousin's back." Geralt warned quietly, feeling the bard tense up against his side. It flared something territorial inside of Geralt that had him wanting to sneak an arm around Jaskier's waist. Given the laws of the land and how frowned upon that is, he withheld to avoid stirring up trouble. Instead he would settle on the knowledge that Ferrant would notice the new claimant marks littering Jaskier's neck and, if he was smart, take a fucking hint.

If not, well, past experience shows Geralt isn't against using his fists to beat some sense into scum. Jaskier's family or no, there was no love lost to be had. Blood doesn't always make for good reason, and blood can be just as filthy and polluted as any other substance. Geralt's dealt in enough _family_ curses to know that tragedy like the back of his hand.

Ferrant approached with easy steps, a subtle cocky sway to his movements that Geralt had seen one too many times from assholes who deserve a good beating. He refrained from initiating contact, instead taking his sweet time finishing off his food. Ferrant seemed mildly irritated to be ignored by both Geralt _and_ Jaskier as the bard renewed his uncomfortable hunched posture with intense focus fixed back on his lute. His fingers stroked the strings in small delicate dances, soft notes chirping from each draw, the nervous tap of his fingertips on wood had Geralt adjusting his stance so his thigh bumped Jaskier's hip gently.

Jaskier relaxed only a fraction at the gentle reminder but Ferrant seemed ignorant of the affect his presence caused his cousin. He placed his palms flat on the table and splayed his fingers out across the old chipped and tarnished wood surface. He bent forward, a commanding posture that demanded both of their attention. It garnered only a cold glare from the witcher and ushered in the urge to drive his fork through the man's hand for getting too close to his plate. It was incredibly tempting to say the least, and a personal preference alone. Alas, he behaved himself, somewhat.

Ferrant plied a greasy smile towards the witcher as he started whatever tirade he had planned upon coming here. "A little birdy told me you're looking for the holder of the monster contract." 

Geralt didn't humor the man with an answer. Only glowered harder in annoyance when the man lifted a hand and flicked his fingers in the air dismissively, almost purposely close to Geralt's personal space.

"Vikus had an _unfortunate_ accident with the creature yesterday. But lucky for you Master Witcher, the Pankratz family has taken on the responsibility of continuing the notice in his stead. The reward is now triple. Fifteen thousand crowns." Ferrant said matter-of-factly. A smug sense of pride that seeped like sap from his words. Bitter and sticky, a vile trouble that beckoned towards his sense of greed.

Jaskier's growing discomfort and uneasy silence had not gone unnoticed as the bard reverted back to the nearly catatonic state he was in the day earlier. It made Geralt's hackles rise and a growl firm in his throat but he reeled it back to a simple dissatisfied hum. There was something more here, something bad and Geralt could almost taste it on the air that settled around them. The tension was gritty and foul, but until one of them states what the Chort in the room was, he would remain the blind man out of the situation. And he highly doubted Ferrant was eager to share and Jaskier was receded too far into himself to give a proper answer.

Ferrant expected a reaction but when none came, he looked a bit disappointed, like a child who had been promised magic but saw only a simple sleight of hand trick. "Lord and Lady Pankratz requests an audience with you Master Witcher, and they would certainly be delighted to see Julian accompany you. After all, it's been ages since he's visited his parents. Wouldn't you agree, Julian?" There was a sharp stabbing expectation wielded in those words that forced Jaskier to nod in silent compliance as if a poisoned blade had been leveled at his throat. 

Geralt opened his mouth to protest the situation but was genuinely startled when Jaskier spoke up instead, cutting him off. It was bitter and fragile, so broken and lacking the usual robust confidence that the bard so boldly exudes on a regular basis, even when facing someone like Geralt whom he had every right to fear upon their first meeting. Even a punch to the stomach couldn't shake Jaskier's resolve or make him shut up, and yet…

Geralt growled, a scant baring of teeth as Jaskier's words met his ears. "Yes. I think that would be best." It didn't sound like it, the lack of conviction was painfully obvious but Jaskier was already rising from his seat to gather his instrument and tuck it safely back inside its case. The self satisfied smirk that spread on Ferrant's lips made Geralt want to break his teeth in. Instead he followed, keeping himself between Jaskier and his cousin at all times, his gaze never wavering from the man, piercing and ever intense. 


	3. Chapter 3

Geralt did not like it one bit. He despised this entire idea and was tempted to ignore the contract and straight up leave the village. They could make it a little while longer without the money but his conscience was conflicted in the knowledge that people were still dying and being murdered by this specter and he had come at the whims and pleas of the  _ villagers _ , not the gold laiden promises of the Pankratz family who Lorded over this domain. He cursed inwardly and gripped Roach's reins a little firmer as they navigated the narrow and treacherous trails leading up to the Pankratz Estate. Jaskier was seated on the back of Geralt's saddle, his arms locked tightly around the witcher's waist with his face buried into his back. He had been quiet the whole ride aside from the concerning thunderous beat of his heart and the trickle of sweat that dampened his brow and glossed down Jaskier's neck. Geralt could smell the fear rolling off of him, the palpable panic that coiled tightly inside of the bard like a cornered and wounded animal too terrified to use its dulled claws.

All in all, it made both him and Roach anxious which only added to Geralt's foul mood. He glared at Ferrant's back as he prodded his horse along the path, taking a larger lead ahead of them and stopping every now and then to ensure the witcher was still following. It only irked him more as if he were merely some mindless beast to follow at the man's every beckon call. Like a sheep or a well trained and beaten mutt. Geralt bared his teeth in a feral snarl of disgust, half tempted to turn Roach around this instant, but the squeeze around his waist made him pause. He felt Jaskier shift against his back and stifle a nervous inhale. It stuttered painfully, accompanied by the sudden upward jolt of his pulse.

"Jaskier? You alright?" His voice was low as he tilted his head enough to glance over his shoulder. He could just barely make out the shape of the bard's profile in his peripheral.

"I'm fine." It came after a stretch of silence and was briefly followed by a very fragile plea. "No matter what happens Geralt, promise me you won't leave me alone.  _ Promise. _ "

Geralt stopped in his tracks, Roach followed suit and stood blocking the trail as Ferrant went on ahead with ignorance towards his companions. "Jaskier, I promise." 

"Good." He released a nervous breath and tightened his hold almost painfully around the witcher. 

Geralt dropped a hand to rest over one of Jaskier's with a gentle sort of fondness. "Mind telling me what all this is about?" He tried to pry but was met with carefully guarded silence once more. 

"Geralt I-" Jaskier's voice trailed off with painful resignation. Ferrant's voice interrupted from higher up the path but Geralt ignored the man pointedly. Instead straining his ears for the barely whispered. "I can't.  _ Not right now. _ "

Geralt ground his teeth with indecision before giving up altogether. "Fine but I expect an explanation soon, Jaskier." He pressed before urging Roach back into pace to finish ascending the tricky rocky path.

  
  
  


The Estate was like any other pompous overly embellished abode owned by folks with more money than brains or genuine common sense. And with an obvious lack of empathy but that last part was more bias on Geralt's end from past experience than common fact. Though to the witcher, experience and fact went mostly hand in hand. It was lavishly decorated with large prominently nurtured oak trees lining the path towards the building and guarded by carefully sculpted shrubbery that flitted from painfully manicured natural fencing to ridiculously shaped for bystander amusement in an array of options. Geralt wasn't very fond of the unicorn shrub but was vastly interested in the hydra perched over the opulent fountains at the base of the stairway. 

Two stablehands and an elderly servant waited at the steps to receive the trio with a welcome. Geralt dismounted with Jaskier clinging tightly to his side almost awkwardly and glowered at the older stablehand that approached to take Roach by her reins. Geralt was hesitant to allow it but after a moment, relinquished his hold on her and watched with annoyance as she was guided away with Ferrant's horse. Ferrant grinned, that slimy self satisfied smile as he disregarded the cloak in the safety of his family's estate, handing it off to the servant with dismissal as they mounted the steps.

Jaskier followed, tucked close beside Geralt and still clutching his lute strap like his life depended on it. They were met at the entrance by another group of servants that brought refreshments on a tray and two guards that pointedly relieved Geralt of his swords and Jaskier of his lute case. The bard stifled a strangled sound as their belongings were taken and Ferrant watched with mild amusement in his eyes. He accepted a glass, portraying rather dramatically how parched and weary he was from the trip. 

Neither Jaskier or Geralt took part in the drinks, shaking their heads in quiet refusal. The servants looked concerned but were dismissed back to whatever duties they had yet to fulfill.

"Does it feel good to be back home, cousin? I imagine you're  _ eager _ to see the rest of the family again." Ferrant coaxed, gesturing dramatically towards the bard who had gone as white as the expensive linens that adorned the small decorative tables in the entryway. Ferrant gestured for them to follow into the next room, dragging the pair into what Geralt assumed was the parlor by the massive fireplace and large chaise lounges, plump with overstuffed cushions and lined with the taxidermied specimens from hunting exploits. Most of which were wolves and bears, the occasional deer head mounted on the wall and one very old and grey boar. The luster of the fur was dulled by age and years of dust settling into the fibers. Geralt wrinkled his nose at them and turned his head away. He felt the gentle touch of Jaskier's fingers brushed against the back of his hand, which Geralt gladly accepted in a well concealed squeeze hidden between their bodies.

"Eager wouldn't necessarily be the word I'd use, Ferrant." Jaskier spoke with a momentary spark of boldness that had quickly fizzled out at the end of Ferrant's accusatory gaze. Jaskier's fingers quickly released Geralt's in a spurt of nervousness that made the witcher bristle more.

"You mentioned a contract. I'd hate to interrupt the family reunion but we have a job to do and time is short before the specter kills again." Geralt interrupted with a firm clearing of his throat. His piercing amber eyes pinned Ferrant in place as the man lingered near the smoldering fireplace. He tore his eyes away from the pair and fixed it solely on the dying embers. His fingers played with the nearly empty glass in his hand before he took another long pull from it. It was a slow draft, dramatic and time consuming. Geralt felt a muscle jump in his neck as he glowered at the man.

"All will be discussed at lunch. When the Lord and Lady join us." Ferrant answered smoothly. His eyes never wavering from the fireplace. 

Geralt clicked his tongue in annoyance but felt Jaskier's fingers gently pull the back of his shirt to garner his attention. Geralt tilted his head ever so slightly, catching the uncomfortable look Jaskier had about him. The low possessive growl that rolled from Geralt's throat eased some of the tension in the bard's posture as he leaned into the witcher's side. Their peace was interrupted by the impatient tapping on the mantle where Ferrant gazed at the pair with poorly concealed disgust. Geralt returned the look with a steely one of his own and refused to allow Jaskier's hand to retreat this time, wrapping his large paw around the bard's small dainty fingers.

Ferrant opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the sound of the servants announcing that lunch was prepared as the Lord and Lady were seated. Ferrant smiled bitterly and gestured for the pair to follow the servant down the hall to the dining room. It was similarly decorated like the rest of the house, just as lavish and gaudy as the last. It made Geralt crinkle his nose up at it, his lip curling briefly before fading into the passive stoic facade that was so accustomed for the witcher.

They were seated side by side, with Geralt taking a seat closest to the furthest end of the table, with Jaskier placed between himself and the Lord. A dark haired man with peppered grey through his carefully slicked back bangs. He wore a tight expression and was dressed in fine dark green silks and polished jewels on gold adornments. His grey eyes were cold and uninterested as they settled on Geralt. Across from Jaskier was the Lady of the household, with long silvery hair tied up in elegant braids that flowed over her shoulders. Her lips were a cherry red and her eyes a fond resemblance to Jaskier's cornflower blue, only shaded lighter by age. Her makeup barely concealed the crows feet sprouting around the corners of her eyes. Her lavender gown was expensive and sleek, accentuating what remained of her youthful figure in a mad desperate act of an aging woman. Were it under different circumstances, she may have been considered  _ lovely  _ for her age.

Ferrant sat beside her, narrowed eyes turned on the goblet of wine now freshly filled by a servant. "If I may suggest a toast for this little family reunion." He hoisted his cup, glancing to the Lord for his approval. He answered only in a half hearted mimicry of the action. Lady Pankratz followed but neither sipped from their glasses the way Ferrant did so greedily. Jaskier stared at his as if it had somehow deeply wounded him and Geralt sniffed at the rim of his own.

"May we never truly part, Cousin. Welcome home Julian." Ferrant urged. Jaskier smiled, a weak twitch of his lips as he raised the goblet and took a faux sip. He was uncomfortable with the eyes leveled on them both but Geralt reassured him with a hand slipped under the table out of view, a gentle squeeze of fingers against his knee. Jaskier tilted his leg into the touch and breathed a small measured sigh.

"You haven't properly introduced your companion yet." Ferrant reminded over the rim of his cup. 

Jaskier nodded, a small bob of action as he cleared his throat. "My apologies truly. Geralt, these are my parents, Lord and Lady Pankratz. Mother, Father, this is my dearest friend Geralt of Rivia. He's a witcher."

"So it seems." The Lord stared coldly at him, steel grey eyes drinking in the unnatural feline form of his eyes, that inhuman amber shade that glowed. The silver wolf medallion that rested heavily against his sternum and the odd long white mane. The brute size and predatory appearance alone ushered an air of danger to cling around Geralt, as thickly and stubbornly as three day old ghoul blood tacky and hard on his boots. "Ferrant has informed me that you are the one inquiring about the monster contract."

"I am." It was a clipped tone, a low rumble that prowled through the atmosphere. Lady Pankratz studied him closely, well guarded in her position as she folded her hands together delicately.

"A ghost of some sort, wasn't it?" Lord Pankratz turned to face Ferrant for an answer but the man was left staring cluelessly back at him over his half empty cup.

"A wraith it seemed." Geralt corrected. "Ghosts are harmless, just spirits trapped between the veils.  _ Wraiths _ on the other hand, are deadly and vengeful."

"Yes, well. We've upped the reward for disposing of this said  _ wraith _ ." The Lord spoke as if the word pained him to utter, as if it were so far beneath him that it would sully his tongue to form the syllables.

"Where exactly is it? I need to know where it lurks, if it's been seen and what it looks like." Geralt pointed out, his carefully formed patience was wearing thin as it usually did with places like this. He hated the luxurious Lords and all their sputtering nonsense and dismissive tones. He couldn't fathom how mages found this palatable.

"No witnesses that have survived. Vikus was the only one I'm afraid." Ferrant purred out, his goblet set on the table as he toyed with the neck of it thoughtfully. "It emerges near the old mine shaft at night. Travelers used to use that place for quick shortcuts but it became a nest for other unsavory creatures to huddle in." He spoke with disgust. "Vermin."

"Nekkers or ghouls?" Geralt asked.

"What?" Ferrant narrowed his eyes at the witcher.

"You mentioned creatures. What kind?"

"I meant bandits and refugees." Ferrant corrected with that rotten look souring his face. 

Jaskier flinched at the pointed look his cousin directed their way. Geralt was undeterred by the gesture and continued burning a hole through the man in front of him. The Lord cleared his throat as the tension grew in the room, disrupted only mildly as the servants brought the first course for their lunch, a starter appetizer of soup. The witcher called upon his numerous experiences of etiquette learned over the years in Kaer Morhen. If witchers were to serve the higher status of society, they would need to know how to function among the nobility. It was less of a Witcher school requirement and more of a personal preference on Vesemir's end to try and teach the boys some sparse details of class before unleashing them on the world. After all, they weren't entirely feral. Well, actually, that depended on the day in Geralt's case.

"Julian." Lord Pankratz started after a moment of silence that stretched far too long for anyone's comfort. "I see you've fallen quite low these days, slumming it in the forests like a common rogue." It was full of resentment and bitter disappointment.

Jaskier's hand twitched as his spoon circled the rim of his bowl to stir it until cool. He was pale and Geralt could smell the sweat pooling on his skin, the animalistic panic that curled tightly in the pit of his stomach. It was pungent and unpleasant and made Geralt want to punch the one causing the distress in his bard. "It's a fulfilling life, believe it or not. I've shared many wonderful adventures with Geralt here." The tiniest twitch of a smile graced Jaskier's features as that same shadow of boldness returned. He didn't lift his gaze from the bowl before him, focused intently on the meal at hand. 

"Really? What kind dear cousin? Do tell!" Ferrant's enthusiasm was barely withheld.

Jaskier, for all his skills in the art of storytelling, looked as if his words had fled him. All eyes settled upon him and it was a crushing burden upon his shoulders. Geralt let the clink of his spoon brush the rim of the bowl a little too loudly. "Hey, Jaskier. Remember that wedding we went to? The one in Cintra?"

"A wedding in Cintra?" Lady Pankratz spoke up for the first time now. Her curious blue eyes fixed on her son. A single manicured brow raised expectantly as the bard lifted his gaze to meet the rest of his family. His lips curled into a broad smile when it met Geralt's knowing expression.

"Ah, yes. You mean Queen Calanthe's party?" He relaxed, abandoning his soup as he started to grapple the spark of inspiration. "That was a lovely time. You see, we were invited as honored guests of the Queen herself. The wine flowed and songs rose to the high ceilings with merriment and celebration. And Geralt here sat at the Queen's side during the evening. What a spectacular night that was. Merriment, drinking, battles and romance. The sword fight halfway through was a nice ice breaker." He nudged Geralt with a fond look. 

"Geralt defended the Urcheon Duny who claimed his Law of Surprise, the heart and hand of Pavetta. The Lionness was displeased with this but after a roguish battle with Geralt in the mix, it ended with not one but  _ two  _ weddings and the end to a lifelong curse!" Jaskier excitedly regaled for all. The life spread throughout his body as he talked energetically for all his family to hear. How Calanthe had treated them and the wonderful feasts and wine they enjoyed. He left out the part about his romp around with his newest love that followed him to the private chambers that evening.

Geralt smiled warmly, watching the growing contempt on Ferrant's face as he gripped his glass tightly until his knuckles were white. Geralt hummed approvingly as he lifted his own glass to his lips and took a long sip. It tasted like watered down horse piss with sour berries tossed on top if he was being honest. His gaze flitted around the room as he noticed the suddenly white shade the Lord had gone when his eyes met Geralt's. His body burned with a low heat licking at his insides, familiar and akin to the sensation of downing a potion only a hundred times weaker. He inspected his hands and noticed the wash out of color along the backs of his fingers and the short hitch in his breath. 

_ Fuck. _

Geralt outlined the rim of his goblet with a single finger, smoothing over the fallen droplets of dark wine with idle interest. The drink colored his lips a dangerous sheen of red, a stark contrast against the sudden pallor that had claimed his chiseled features. The dark pulsing lines of his veins throbbed to the surface of the nearly translucent layers. The room fell to deathly silence when the White Wolf raised his abyssal gaze to stare down their hosts. Jaskier had gone quiet, his previous mentions of Queen Calanthe and the Wedding Party in Cintra had fallen into silence, forgotten thoughts abandoned quickly. 

Geralt peeled his lips back in a wolfish grin, baring his sharp teeth in a low snarl. "Lovely vintage you have here." He dragged the syllables out slowly, fitting them carefully on his tongue as it dragged the small droplets of red from his lips. It stained his teeth a terrifying shade as he proceeded. "I'm detecting notes of....wolfsbane and...is that nightshade? My my, you've really rolled out the  _ welcome wagon _ here, haven't you?"

The Lord and Lady were silenced by their own horror as the witcher raised the glass and polished off the last few gulps of the contaminated drink. His hellish gaze stole away their breath and left them gripping the table for stability. Ferrant stumbled through an attempt to speak but it only came out in fumbled gibberish as Geralt rose from the table and shared that dangerous smile with them again. 

"It was a wonderful meal your Lordship, but we've got a monster to hunt. I thank you for your  _ generous _ hospitality." Jaskier was already on his feet, prepared to follow after the witcher as he turned to depart. They left in silence, retrieving their belongings from the skittish and frightened servants, the butler's hands trembled badly as he lifted the swords with all the apprehension of a child dared to pet a feral dog.

Geralt took them back along with Jaskier's lute and made their way to the stables to retrieve Roach.

"Are you alright?" Jaskier's voice lifted to break the unexpected silence. His softened blue eyes inspected the witcher with studious attention to every detail. This wasn't his first time seeing Geralt in such a state, when toxins entered his system and spread like a plague.

"This? I'm fine." He assured, pulling Roach's reins and guiding her out into the open. Geralt gave Jaskier a boost up onto her saddle once he himself was properly situated. It was darker now, clouded heavily with a coming storm as fog rolled in throughout the forest. It made the path back down to the town below far more dangerous than he would like. But Geralt trusted Roach to get them back safely. 

"Are you certain?" The concern was dripping from Jaskier's lips, a welcome relief after the oppressive silence that had held his tongue hostage over lunch.

Geralt nodded with a grunt. "I've had far worse than this." He bobbed his head as Roach started a light pace down the rocky path. Her hooves tread lightly with the uneven earth below, causing Geralt to curse the poor visibility this evening. He just hoped no Ghouls or Foglets were lurking in the thick underbrush of the woods surrounding. It would do them very little good to get caught off guard like this.

"After my mutations took hold, Lambert and I would prank each other with 'harmless' potions and mixtures we had learned. Little things to just cause discomfort." Geralt explained, the fondness twisting his voice into something familiar and pleasant to the bard's ears. "Lambert slipped something into my drink one evening and I spent most of the night curled up on the floor in front of the fireplace, a bucket at my side and what felt like a ton of furs piled on top of me."

"That sounds unpleasant." Jaskier commented. 

"It was. Vesemir woke me every hour to drink Hemlock tea." He wrinkled his nose at it. "He could have given me some White Honey to cure my ailment but he chose instead to teach us a lesson. I had to endure as any unprepared witcher would. These were the consequences of our actions. For the  _ games _ we played on each other."

Jaskier grimaced as Geralt snorted. "It worked for a short while. But we eventually moved onto something less foul tasting than potions and herbs."

"Lovely." Jaskier hummed, slipping his arms securely around Geralt's waist as he relished in the familiar presence of his wolf. "Hey Geralt?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you." Jaskier murmured softly, almost unnoticed in the brisk wind that brushed past them. The air crackled with a hum of energy as thunder rolled angrily in the distance. 

Geralt smiled softly to himself. "You're welcome."


	4. Chapter 4

Jaskier whined in annoyance as the rain pattered down on them as Jaskier flitted from merchant stall to covered merchant stall, purchasing fresh goods for their travels. He had procured a cloak early on in their journey together, at Geralt's behest that he be more prepared than just carrying his lute and the few clothes in his case. It had been a wonderful acquisition that Jaskier didn't curse for a moment. But when it grew soggy from prolonged exposure and the wind whipped aggressively against his back, that made for an unpleasant chill that had the bard daydreaming of a hot bath and a sauna.

"Maybe one of these days we can take a trip to Skellige?" Jaskier asked, tucking the acquired parcels under the protection of his cloak as he followed the White Wolf through the morning market. 

"Roach doesn't like boats." Geralt said simply.

"Ah, fair. Poor girl." Jaskier sympathized. "And we certainly couldn't split you two apart. T'wer the romance of the century, the White Wolf and his beloved horse, Roach. A romance to stand the test of time brandishing honor, glory and monster slaying." 

"Do I detect a touch of jealousy in your voice, bard?" Geralt teased as he tucked the new blinders for Roach against his chest. The blacksmith had done a fine job with them and he was eager to test them out and see how she likes them. 

"Were she a wench you were ploughing, yes. But I know who _really_ gets to keep you late at night. No offense to milady Roach, she is a valiant warrior and a beauty unparalleled, be it mare or maiden." Jaskier chirped fondly, ignoring the creeping shiver that curled up along his spine, and the flash of heat that blossomed across his face when Geralt turned those piercing smoldering amber eyes on him. His sultry gaze was hidden behind the hood of his cloak, so none other than Jaskier would bore witness to such a ravishly unfair sight. 

"Fuck."

"That's my line, bard." Geralt purred, stepping into Jaskier's personal space until they were nearly hip to hip. It could easily be blamed on the crowded market but Jaskier knew the truth behind the witcher's touch. He had felt its warmth scouring and exploring his body all night long after the witcher had downed a dose of White Honey. By the time they reached the inn, the sky had opened up in a nasty storm which forced them to delay their investigation for the time being. Needless to say, it hadn't gone to waste as Geralt demonstrated rather thoroughly some of that famed witcher stamina for his adoring bard. And Jaskier, in turn, sung his name so sweetly he was certain half the town was aware of their frolicking behind closed doors.

"You keep this up, Geralt and we'll never get that job done at this rate. You'll be too busy tending to the blessed curse your presence bestows upon me." Jaskier's voice was a low purr in return as Geralt pressed closer until they bumped foreheads together. One strong gloved hand rested against the curve of Jaskier's lower back, tucking the bard close as his ever protective wolf guarded them. It was a sense of security that Jaskier had relished in and enjoyed deeply on their travels but one he had taken for granted until recently. He had never encountered something to truly be afraid of on their journey, just mild mishaps and startling outcomes, until now when they faced the darkness that stood on the precipice of Jaskier's old life. It was a world he didn't wish to drag his wolf into, but his family for all their rotten plague touched hands, had to try and snatch this smallest glimmer of hope and happiness out of his life. Unbeknownst to them, witchers were immune to disease, and their ilk was no different.

"You say that as if it were an entirely terrible thing." Geralt purred quietly, just loud enough for Jaskied to hear his words as his fingers stroked the dip of his back so sweetly. "Besides, can't investigate the attack site in this weather. I'll need to wait until it clears up enough."

"Is that truly your reasoning or another excuse to occupy our bed at the inn?" Jaskier swatted his chest playfully before letting his hand settle on Geralt's shoulder, only lingering a moment in fondness.

"Can't they be one in the same?" The cheeky rumble in his throat soothed Jaskier's burdens better than any strong booze or feisty maiden and her wandering hands. His wolf, his beloved sweet wolf was far too good for him. Jaskier couldn't fathom what wonders he had done to end up in this fearsome man's arms. They were blessings in the sparse moments of freedom he was graced during his mortal life. Geralt was his muse and his unknowing savior. Geralt had become far more than just a simple traveling companion and for that, with all his vast knowledge on words and the extensive and vibrant vocabulary that perched before his mind, he couldn't ever compose a ballad, vow or story that could justify the immense gratitude and love he felt for his dear white wolf. It would do his feelings no true honor and for that, he would mourn. But for now, he will savor.

"Truly a devil you are. A wolf in sheep's clothing." Jaskier murmured, tilting his head until it was tucked against the crook of Geralt's shoulder. Strong arms looped around his waist and pulled him firmly against his side, ensuring Jaskier wasn't parted by the rush of the crowd.

"I play no fool of being a sheep. It's not my fault if the shepherd mistakes my white fur for wool." Geralt answered softly, his well crafted words dancing in Jaskier's ears. 

"My, my, someone is becoming quite the poet. I must be rubbing off on you." Jaskier met the wolfish grin Geralt directed at him as the witcher took the initiative to pull the bard against his side and started to navigate them both back to the inn.

* * *

It was almost supper time when the rain finally stopped and they managed to extricate themselves from the mess they made of their bed. Jaskier was stiff in his joints and sore in all the right places which normally wouldn't be a problem but seeing as they were riding on Roach all the way there, the saddle was currently acting as his bane. He held tightly to Geralt and endured the long trek, aided by the reassuring words of the witcher as they navigated the forests surrounding. Jaskier had enough of a memory from his childhood to help direct Geralt with where he needed to go. It was the least he could do for his efforts.

Their long winded break in the day had allowed his traveling cloak to dry by the fireside and he had warmed up in the witcher's embrace. Allowing for some modicum of pleasantry in this wicked and woesome world.

"We getting close?" Geralt called over his shoulder, feeling the firm squeeze of the bard's arms around his waist. Jaskier peeked around Geralt's broad figure and surveyed the area closely, a keen eye of scrutiny working over the land. 

"Yes. Beyond those trees is a clearing. The mine should be on the other side." Jaskier explained. Geralt nodded, clicking his tongue to urge Roach forward as the broke the treeline. The clearing was windswept and worn. Large dirt patches showed old evidence of camps that had once occupied the space. The grassy knots that wobbled along the edges where the terrain had been carved up by men and beast, had been forced over in long sweeps where the wind's relentless howling kept it pinned indefinitely. The greenery bled out into something sickly and faded to a tarnished brown. Signs of something foul roaming the area pock marked the earth.

On the other side of the clearing was a large mound of stone displaced from years earlier, now peppered in sparse plant life trying to grow between the rocks and soil piled there. The trench routes of old cart wheels dug a path in the earth and led them around the rocky mountain side towards the opening of the mine's mouth.

The entrance was as one would expect for a mine, it was rather small at first glance, dark and overgrown with weeds from lack of use. Vines and moss crept over the mouth, clinging to the rocky edges to hang down like curtains and shadowing whatever may potentially be lurking within. Geralt gripped the reins, easing Roach around in a circle in front of the mine, giving himself the chance to search the area closely for signs of trouble. The cold wind crept up on the witcher's back, a chill that seeped into his bones with a magical snap of _wrongness._ He could feel it, sunk into the earth like a plague. The foul odor that lingered on the air, too heavy to be pushed off just yet.

"Stay here." He commanded, leaving Jaskier on the saddle as he dismounted. The bard moved to follow, lips parted in protest but as Geralt gripped his silver sword, Jaskier knew better than to argue and fell into silence. 

"Be careful." He offered as his eyes tracked Geralt's figure moving across the clearing at the opening. There were plenty of older tracks from animals and people passing through. The boots of hunters chasing prey, the paw prints of wolves trailing after the scent of rabbits. Hoof marks of deer scraping the earth before scampering off, spooked by something else. 

Geralt's nostrils flared when he caught a whiff of that previous scent. A speckling of blood accompanied a boot print that disappeared and was replaced by the impatient hooves of a tired horse. He backtracked, following the scent into the treeline nearby where the stench grew stronger. It was thick, cloying over his tongue with a shudder of disgust as Geralt pushed through the bushes and thicket of brambles to find the source. 

"Well, I think I found Vikus." He grumbled, inspecting the bloodied body hung in the thick canopy of trees like ghoul bait. His limbs were snagged around branches, wood chipped away where his nails dug into the wood and pried at it desperately. The man looked to have been fleeing, a crossbow bolt sunk into his shoulder from behind. Long lacerations in his torso and across one arm, defensive wounds from an attack. The bark was covered in dried blood where the man had eventually succumbed to his injuries. The ground below had been dug at, the lower parts of the bark were scraped away by something that wanted him really badly.

Geralt pried the tufts of grey fur from the bark and puzzled at the various claw marks in the wood. The stench of rot mingled with the musty notes of dirt and hair. The residual hints of wet dog plucking beneath it all, almost out of reach.

"Ghouls and...wolves. Hmm. They could smell him up there." Geralt clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he started the tedious task of getting the body out of the tree. It took several minutes of hefting and muscling him around until he slipped free. The Witcher grunted as the weight landed on his shoulder, spewing what little bodily fluids remained down his armor plating. He grimaced, making a valiant effort of ignoring the stench that rolled off of the corpse. This man did not die a shitless death, that was for certain.

Geralt carried the corpse out to the clearing and deposited it on the first patch of clear earth the witcher found. His ears pricked when he heard familiar footsteps in the dirt approaching, without even looking up, he spoke. "Thought I told you to stay."

"Well, you were taking too long." Jaskier countered, stopping a few respectful paces away from the corpse. Geralt tipped his head up to catch the flicker of regret on the bard's face. It was gone before Geralt could comment on it. "Is this Vikus?"

"I believe so." Geralt rumbled with mild annoyance as he started searching the body for anything useful. A few coins, an old hand rag, the remains of a leather cord that would have held a knife. Geralt glanced around to ensure it hadn't simply fallen when he moved the body. Maybe it was around the tree base? He dismissed the thought when he recalled not spying it at all when he examined the area. He was almost finished when he found a scrap of parchment hidden in the man's old jacket. A pocket just out of easy view.

Geralt unfolded it to examine the writing. It was smeared in places where blood and the rain had tampered with it, but a majority of the script was still legible. Including one very concerning signature.

"What is it?" Jaskier asked. Geralt answered by handing the paper over to the bard, his solemn look directed back at the body as he examined it closely, taking account of all the wounds inflicted. None of which were conclusive of being from a wraith.

"These injuries were inflicted by human hands." Geralt explained, filling the silence that grew heavy between him and the bard. 

"Ferrant." Jaskier murmured, holding the paper between his fingers, careful not to crumble up the potential evidence against his cousin.

"It would appear so." Geralt pushed himself to his feet, dusting his hands off and trying to wipe some of the grime off of his gloves. His gaze cocked towards the mine now. This wraith the villagers complained of was of the witcher's current interest. "Lets see if this wraith actually exists."

Geralt turned to speak to Jaskier but the bard had tucked the note away into his pocket and fixed a firm look back at Geralt. "Don't you dare tell me to stay put." He warned. Geralt sighed, shaking his head dismissively. If Jaskier wanted to follow him, there was nothing that would stop the bard from doing as he pleased.

Geralt reached for his silver sword, preparing himself for any unforeseen surprises. His eyes searched the opening of the mine in his approach, picking up the faint hints of a specter's presence. The littering of dead moths near the opening. The slight disturbances in the earth where something _paced_ back and forth. The residual stench that warped the surrounding air, taking away from the usual musty damp scent that he'd expect from a mine. His amber eyes cut through the darkness easily enough but he stopped to make a makeshift torch for Jaskier's sake, handing it off to the bard to keep his hands busy with _something_ while they searched the entrance.

There was a lack of a draft pulling in and out which concerned the witcher until he found the reason why. The quiet whistle of air drifting between stones was faint, as he approached the caved in section of the mine. The rock walls had given way, letting a good several tons of stone and dirt to break down and cut the mine off, effectively sealing the shortcut. The wooden beams were splintered and damaged, scorched in places from an old fire. The stone walls were darkened in places, similar patches of damage.

Geralt found the fractured remains of what he assumed was left of an old lantern. Bits of glass and the broken metal frame torn to pieces by heavy debris. Jaskier paced at his back, a slow back and forth that itched at the witcher's nerves. 

"Geralt." Jaskier breathed, pulling his attention towards the bard. Jaskier lifted the torch to get a better view of the pile. His pale blue eyes fixed on one detail that the witcher's amber gaze honed in on. A single boney hand hung out of the mound, bones crushed and snapped by the debris. Tattered rags of fabric that was once very fancy and vibrant were left in shreds, clinging to the remains. Geralt crouched to further inspect the body, assuming this was possibly their source for the wraith. An unexpected death in a mine collapse. He wondered if the woman was one of the refugees Ferrant mentioned took shelter here.

His gloves fingers poked through the debris, the light from Jaskier's torch caused a shimmer that caught his eye. Upon closer inspection as he pulled the source of the sparkle from the dirt, rubbing it clean with the tips of his gloves, he raised the silver ring up to better examine the intricate engravings inside the band.

"Hm, a panther." Geralt hummed. "Don't see this much outside of Toussaint."

"What did you say?" The deathly still tone that the bard adopted was enough to drag Geralt's attention back towards Jaskier. The younger man's attention was not on the witcher, instead reaching for the ring in his grasp as he examined the emeralds that adorned the band. They were small, carefully placed in the silver facets and well worn. It was a bit dingy from the years in the mine but Jaskier recognized it and by the gods, he felt sick. He very nearly dropped the torch as he clutched the ring to his chest and stifled a sob. 

"Oh gods." He cursed, the sudden lurch of sickness curling in the pit of his stomach, forcing a wave of nausea to rush over him. His head was spinning and the cave was far too small and stuffy for him to endure. 

Noticing the too quick pace of the bard's heart, Geralt took the torch from his hand and wrapped an arm around Jaskier, coaxing him out of the mine and towards the entrance and the promise of fresh air. 

"Jaskier?" Geralt spoke carefully, calmly. He noted how tightly his companion was holding the ring now, refusing to relinquish it even as they reached the entrance and Jaskier stumbled away to empty the contents of his stomach in the nearby bushes. Geralt rested one hand on his shoulder, grimacing at the dark stains on his gloves. He retracted his hand to remove them, stuffing them in his pocket as he helped support his friend when he started to step away. 

Jaskier stumbled on his feet, catching himself to brace against Geralt's strong arm as he groaned and shook his head. His blue eyes speckled with the forming tears that threatened to fall, further puzzling the witcher until Jaskier finally spoke. It was broken and hoarse, his shoulders trembled and drooped as he dragged a shuddering breath into his chest. "Her name was Cynthia and...I- ugh..I killed her."


	5. Chapter 5

"What do you mean, you killed her?" Geralt's voice was firm, demanding a straight answer from the bard as he shook against the witcher's chest. Jaskier fell into sharp gasping breaths, running his hands over his face and through his hair in panicked motions, scrambling for some sense and stability. 

"Jaskier?" Geralt's voice softened but it didn't stop the visible flinch that resulted from it. The bard's eyes were wide and terrified, tears streamed down his cheeks as he clutched the silver emerald ring like a lifeline. 

"Geralt." His voice broke, a painful crack as his knees gave out. He dropped to the ground with a painful thud, one hand catching his weight and pulling a wince from his lips. He heaved in another breath. "It's all my fault. She...I thought… I…oh gods." 

Jaskier broke down in a heavier sob, his voice failing to hold up as he cried, rocking in place with that ring held close. Geralt was at a loss for words. Witchers don't often feel emotions, not as acutely and as raw as humans do. They aren't entirely unfeeling. But they were also socially inept in handling emotionally distressed people. Usually, he'd calm a frantic child or hysteric adult with a cast of Axii but he couldn't bring himself to do that to Jaskier. That felt like jabbing a knife into his ribs to try to fix another open wound.

He lowered himself to Jaskier's side and wrapped one careful experimental arm around the bard. After a moment, Jaskier twisted into him, accepting the gesture as he tucked into Geralt's chest. His face was wedged against the crook of Geralt's armor and the witcher was only mildly concerned about getting the stench of rot all over Jaskier. Jaskier, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice the grime and fluids that stained the witcher's armor. He obviously had other worries at the moment.

Geralt tossed the torch aside to a dirt patch and carefully secured his other arm around him and gently combed his fingers through the bard's hair, rocking them both in brief sways back and forth as he hushed his sobs. It was all he could think to do. 

It seemed like hours had stretched by when Jaskier finally settled against his chest. His breathing evened out with little hiccups and hard gasps. His eyes were swollen and puffy, reddened around the edges and dark with mourning. He looked pale and wrung out and so tired. He drew away from Geralt, unsteady even now as he dragged in a broken breath that shuddered and faded. Another hiccup as he rubbed his hands against his face, ignoring the textured pattern Geralt's armor left against his skin. Geralt withheld the tiny smile of amusement it brought. Normally the bard would complain about the blemish but Jaskier wasn't in the mood for those tedious concerns.

"You alright?" Geralt asked after a moment, his voice so very quiet that it could be missed as but a whisper of the wind. But the bard would know that growl anywhere and gave a tiny bob of answer with his head. Geralt pried himself free, feeling Jaskier's fingers still clutching his forearm. He smiled sympathetically down at the bard's desperation. "It's alright." He placed his hand over Jaskier's and gave the tiniest reassurance of a smile as he could. "I'm just going to get something from Roach."

Jaskier's gaze drifted from the Witcher towards where Roach had meandered off to the treeline to munch on the damp sprouts of grass. He nodded and released Geralt's arm, reluctantly. The witcher lingered a moment to show he wasn't in too much of a hurry to leave the bard's side before heading over to the saddle bag. He returned and dropped into a crouch in front of Jaskier now. "Here, drink this."

He offered the bard their drinking flask which Jaskier took between both his hands. Geralt noted they were still shaking bad enough to make the water slosh around inside as Jaskier fumbled with the cap, until Geralt took it and let the bard take a few drinks to ease his raw throat. Jaskier drew away, coughed as some went down the wrong way then took a few more desperate sips before handing it back. Geralt accepted it, capped it and tucked it into his pocket for the moment.

"You feeling better now?" He asked. 

"A little." It came out broken and quiet. 

Geralt rested one hand on his friend's shoulder and rubbed a slow circle over the droop of his posture. Jaskier's head hung as he rubbed a hand over his face and cleared away the drying tear stains from his cheeks. He sniffled and cleared his throat with a harsh sound.

"Feel like talking about it?" Geralt asked.

"Not really." Jaskier started, releasing a heavy sigh as he continued. "But that wouldn't do Cynthia any justice, would it?"

"Jaskier." Geralt's voice quieted, something caught in conflicted sympathy. This was hard. Were it a stranger who had blathered on about killing someone, Geralt would have grilled them, twisted their guilty conscience until they broke and forced them to admit their crimes. But this was Jaskier. He couldn't hurt a fly. He could barely throw a proper punch. This man lacked aggression outside of verbal disputes. And last time Geralt checked, words don't kill people.

"It's a very long story and I-" His voice trailed with another untimely hiccup. "I know how much you hate long stories. I implore you to make an exception just this once."

"Alright." He said after a moment, searching the bard's face as Jaskier refused to meet his eyes. He fiddled with the ring in his palm, rolling it around in his fingers as he traced its engravings over and over again.

Jaskier took another deep breath, preparing himself as he started to explain. "Cynthia's family was from Toussaint, you are correct. They once owned a rather large vineyard that was well renowned but like all successful ventures, tragedy strikes. One bad season led to another, and they lost more money than they could recoup. They were forced to sell off their home and left to find somewhere where their shame and their names wouldn't follow. She found her way here, to Lettenhove." He gave a dismissive gesture. "She was a tutor my family hired when I was…" His voice trailed, a loss for words as he struggled to explain.

A firm squeeze from Geralt's hand on his shoulder eased the words out of him but it was still a fight. "I was on house arrest." He put it kindly, a bitterness seething beneath the surface that the witcher hadn't missed.

"Jaskier?" Geralt prodded, a quiet nudge to elaborate. But the bard dismissed it with a shake of his head, hiding his face in his palm as he dragged out another breath. 

"My father found out about my _interests_ in other men." He admitted. "He and my mother decided to _fix_ me. Cynthia was part of that plan. They couldn't exactly throw me out since I wasn't entirely useless. Ferrant had been hopeful to take my place as heir to the Pankratz fortune and estate. They had considered it, I would have rather that be their choice. Then I could live in peace away from their shame."

He shook his head. "But they were stubborn and I was useful still. To play the part of the Pankratz family icon, mingling in court and bringing influence and power to the family." He gestured dismissively to himself. Geralt understood that much. Wealthy families often only care about increasing their wealth and influence. It's all that matters in this world and they don't care who they sacrifice along the way, including their own blood.

"Ferrant caught me with another Lord's son after a soiree. My father was furious and locked me inside the estate. I couldn't leave. My only interactions with the world around me were my family and my tutors whom my parents carefully picked for their appearances and their _willingness_ towards me."

Jaskier shuddered and sucked in a sharp breath, eyes fixed on the ground in front of him. "I tried to run away. By the gods I tried. Ferrant chased me down the first time I got away from the estate. I made it to the edge of town before he caught me and dragged me back. The second time, I got smart and stole his horse. I made it two towns over before I got dragged back in the company of mercenaries my father hired."

"My father had grown tired of my stubbornness. They placed restrictions on me so I wouldn't dare flee. Locked in my room, rationed meals, constant _tutoring,_ no music… and I know for a fact they had the kitchen staff mixing drugs in my food to keep me complacent."

Geralt's grip tightened briefly, drawing Jaskier to meet his gaze for the first time since they started talking. The witcher's eyes were dark, shadowed over with an anger that Jaskier rarely ever saw in the man. A primal rage that boiled under the surface. He shifted away from the witcher's touch, feeling a sudden cold chill burrow into his bones and weigh him down. He hunkered into himself, his knees drawn up to his chest as he fell into silence. 

Geralt spoke after a few minutes of quiet consideration. His voice far steadier than Jaskier could give him credit for but he still didn't meet the witcher's gaze. "Where does Cynthia fit in all this?"

Silence, then Jaskier sighed. "She was...nice. A ray of sunshine in my days of misery. She was so kind and I believe she was genuinely falling in love with me, and not just playing the part of a hired strumpet to force me to fall for some wealthy man's daughter. My father was under the impression that her family still had money and ties to Toussaint. It would give our family a boost in connections if her and I married."

Jaskier shook his head. "She didn't want that. She wanted me to be happy and she _saw_ what was happening to me. Cynthia wanted to help me escape. We had planned it all out." He shifted, sitting up more now as he gestured wantonly. "I had hidden funds I kept tucked away in the woods when I was trying to escape. The first time I failed to reach it and the second time I had forgotten. Cynthia helped me get all the supplies I'd need to flee while we pretended to play along with my family's plan. We played nice, acted the part of a loving couple. Even had sex a few times to secure the illusion." He shook his head with a grimace. "She did so much for me and she wanted to help. She truly did."

He glanced towards the mine with a sullen expression. "We were supposed to meet here. It was to be under cover of darkness. She left a key she stole from the kitchen staff for me and I had enough supplies to last me a few days…" His voice trailed away.

"I'm going to assume it didn't go as planned." Geralt interjected. 

"Ferrant had been tipped off." Jaskier admitted. "I don't know how, but he knew. He had men already scouring the forest for me. I rushed here as fast as I could but she wasn't here. I couldn't wait with my freedom so close at hand so I left. And she….she.." Geralt pulled Jaskier into another embrace to still his quivering voice. Jaskier sucked in a sharp breath. "Gods, she was in the mine the whole time, wasn't she?"

Geralt drew away to console the bard but he blurted out roughly. "I could have helped her. I could have…. _oh gods_. She's dead because of me!"

"Jaskier." Geralt's voice was firm, his hands rough as they gave the bard a hard shake to drag him out of his struggled gasps. He stilled, eyes dewy with tears as he sniffled and swallowed down a sob. "You didn't know." Geralt spoke sternly, each syllable was careful and concise. "You did what you had to do. Blaming yourself won't bring her back but you can still bring her peace."

Jaskier quieted as Geralt stood up, his head hung low as he wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. Even with his traveling cloak on, it had grown bitterly cold out with the resting sun. Night was falling quickly which meant they didn't have much time left.

Geralt picked up the torch from earlier which had gone out on it's own. A quick spark of igni had it good as new. He handed it to Jaskier to hold, placing the base in the bard's hand. Jaskier looked up, puzzled at first as Geralt straightened up. "Stay here." 

"Where are you going?" 

"To finish the job." Geralt answered matter-of-factly, turning back towards the mine. His keen sight easily cut through the darkness as he trudged deeper into the tunnel until he reached the cave in. He had to be careful, digging around in the debris as he examined the body parts still salvageable.

"Wounds inflicted on the arms show defensive injuries." He hummed, pulling the bones away from the pile to inspect the chips in them. He could distinguish the difference between teeth marks from scavengers and necrophages and the obvious signs of a blade slicing into a body, inflicting deep wounds. As he rummaged around, he found similar wounds on the broken pieces of pelvis and a few spare ribs. He assumed one of the deep stab wounds was the cause of death. The collapse was to cover up the crime. The burnt beams looked intentional, forcing the whole area to crumble under the weight.

It felt like hours as Geralt sifted through the dirt, pulling large stones and debris away. Several times he had to cast signs to hold the area up and prevent it from falling back on him as he picked around. When he had most of the body gathered together, he salted the pile of dirt and bones, preparing it for burning.

"Jaskier!" Geralt called down the tunnel, listening and waiting patiently for the familiar footsteps. He was greeted with a quiet breath and the soft shadows from the torch light as the bard slowly crept into the mine.

"What is it?" His breath hitched in his throat when he spotted the mostly complete skeleton lying on the ground, shreds of fabric and some rotting bits of flesh still clung to the remains. There was a necklace of delicate silver that Geralt had also dug away and laid carefully beside the skull, which was smashed in the back and shattered. A pile of teeth and shrapnel bits of jaw bone were tucked close to it. Geralt had been very thorough in his endeavor which was more than Jaskier could give him credit for. 

"The ring. It needs to go with her." Geralt informed quietly. "Now would be the time to pay your respects."

Jaskier nodded slowly, his fingers clutching the torch tightly until his knuckles were white. He thumbed over the ring, mournful at its loss as he crouched down to lay it beside her hand. Geralt took a few steps back, offering a moment of privacy for the bard. It was hard not to eavesdrop on his sorrowful parting, to hear the hiccup in his voice as he held back tears. Geralt did his best to remain impartial and waited until the familiar tug of a hand at his arm guided him back to the task. Jaskier pressed his forehead against Geralt's shoulder as the witcher drew him into another hug, fingers carding through messy brown locks in small swipes.

"You did good. She'd be proud of you, you know." Geralt informed, catching Jaskier's chin to meet his puffy pale blue eyes. They were ringed red from his upset, a sight that made Geralt's chest tighten and his blood boil. "She'd want you to be happy."

"I-" Jaskier's voice broke into another shuddering breath before he receded to silence. He simply nodded, not trusting himself to be able to properly speak any further.

"Go wait by Roach. I'll be done in a little bit." 

"What are you going to do?"

"Burn the bones so that she can finally be put to rest." Geralt explained. "Sometimes that's the end to it. Sometimes they manifest one last time as a wraith. I'd rather you stay safe and out of the way if the latter happens." 

Jaskier nodded in understanding, adjusting the torch in his grasp as he started to leave. Geralt's fingers lingered in the bard's cloak as he drew away before letting him go completely. He heaved a heavy sigh when he was alone in that stuffy claustrophobic tunnel and turned his attention towards the bones. A snap of igni consumed them gluttonously, gorging on the remains with sickening snaps and crackles as the heat splintered them and reduced them to ash.


	6. Chapter 6

_"You make him happy. I can see this."_ The voice was an ethereal song that danced on the stifling air of the tight tunnel. The smoke from the flames wafted around Geralt's sentinel stance and drifted out behind him. The audible crackle was almost louder than the woman that manifested before him. She was beautiful, a vision befitting a noble woman from Toussaint. Her long hair fell in thick auburn waves over her shoulders and was braided out of her face. Her dress was modest but complimented her shape, a young comely lass that would have been the jewel of the village.

"Cynthia?" Geralt asked softly, bowing his head with a small dip of acknowledgement. She smiled, a bittersweet twist of her lips as she fended off the sorrow that filled her eyes as she gazed upon her remains. She crouched down beside them, plucking her ring from the debris, a phantom replica that she marvelled at, rolling it gently over in her hands before depositing it on the appropriate finger.

_"He remembers me."_ She spoke with a lilt of happiness sneaking through something so brittle. _"All these years and he still remembers me. I thought I would fade and be forgotten by all. I was a nobody in this little town. An outsider. But he made me feel like I belonged."_

"Jaskier is not a man to forget easily. He falls in love with the world as it passes and immortalizes it in ways that nobody else would think to do. He sees the beauty and the good where others only see misery and tragedy." His words were steady, underlined by notes of fondness barely kept tucked away. 

_"He loves you."_ It wasn't a question. _"And you love him."_ An astute observation. _"You care for him deeply, in a way that I could never fulfill. I am happy to know he has finally found somebody to love him for who he really is."_

"I find it hard not to." Geralt hummed, a low rumble that reverberated within his chest like a great feline. "He is odd and in his own unique way, he grows on you."

_"Like a catchy song or a sweet lullaby."_ She added, her features blossoming into something warmer. _"He would sing so beautifully to me when I'd tutor him. He reminded me of a sad lonely caged bird. He just wanted to spread his wings and soar above a world he dreamed of exploring."_

"Thanks to you, he was finally able to do just that."

_"And thanks to you, Witcher, he can keep living that life."_ She sighed, stepping closer to Geralt as she inspected his large figure. She was so frail and tiny in comparison, it was almost laughable. _"Please, do not let his family steal him away again. They will try to clip his wings permanently."_

"You have my word, Cynthia." He grunted, a humble tilt of his head as she placed a kiss on his cheek. 

_"Thank you, Witcher."_ She breathed softly, like the wind passing against his skin. Her body faded like dust carried away on a summer breeze. The faint aroma of honeysuckle and cinnamon dancing under his nose as he was left alone to the smoldering ashes of her corpse and the dark quiet mine.

"Rest in peace."

* * *

The ride back to town was long, painfully slow and so very cold as the weather turned to the sharp nip that rode in on the recent storms. Jaskier hunkered into his traveling cloak, stumbling along beside the witcher with weary steps. Geralt ignored the chill, focused on the task at hand as he guided Roach by her reins. His saddle was currently occupied with the body slung across it, wrapped in his own cloak to keep the majority of the filth and grime from ruining the saddle and bags. Geralt grumbled about the loss of a perfectly good cloak but the price of replacing the saddle itself would have been far worse so he shouldered the cost with a weary sigh and kept his mind on the job.

It was terribly late when they finally reached the inn and to his great but so rare fortune, folks were still milling about, drinking and eating their fill as they waited to hear what became of the monster that terrorized them for so long. A quick word to the innkeeper, and the proper folks were fetched to relieve him of Vikus' body. A hot meal and warm bath awaited them both, which Geralt relished in. Jaskier's silence broke only in small musters of muttered apologies or remarks of watered down gratitude.

"Co'mere." Geralt grunted once they were alone in their room with a hot bath steaming in the tub. Jaskier approached, still wearing that heavy damp cloak. His face hidden in the hood in a sad attempt to shield his forlorn expression.

Geralt took a moment to release the clasp on his cloak, drawing the heavy fabric away and letting it fall into a heap on the floor. It made a pitiful sound that drew the bard's attention momentarily. Geralt stole it back briefly as he hooked Jaskier's chin and planted a gentle and chaste kiss on his lips. The lingering familiar taste of ale met him as he drew back, a small smile curled the corner of his mouth. Jaskier's cheeks pinked in a soft flush that could have been embarrassment as he was dragged from his thoughts, or simply the cold of the outside still clinging to his skin.

Geralt proceeded to help the bard undress, peeling piece after piece away from his shivering body and letting each fall like the last. The pile at the bard's feet was growing exponentially as the witcher pressed warm kisses against the crook of his neck, along his jaw, a nip at the corner of his ear with that daring wolfish snarl that coaxed Jaskier out of his fragile shell.

Fingers fumbled to start the delicate work on Geralt's armor, treating it with just as much reckless abandon. They barely kicked their boots off into a pile, haphazard and hanging on one another, teeth and tongue fighting each other over their lips, brief kisses drawn out and hungry, fingers clinging tightly to warming skin as they wrestled and coiled around each other until Geralt scooped Jaskier up into his arms with a growl. The bard gasped with a strangled laugh, wrapping his arms around Geralt's shoulders as he was whisked towards the bath.

Geralt maneuvered them both as he settled into the bath, Jaskier's legs wrapped around his hips as they sank into the warm water. A paired groan slipped from both of their lips in relief, Jaskier's weight sagging against Geralt's chest as he sighed pleasantly in the witcher's ear. Geralt growled, a low feral sound of satisfaction as he nuzzled against Jaskier's cheek, peppering gentle kisses along his jaw and trailing down until he could press his face into the crook of his shoulder. The witcher's arms snaked firmly around his bard, holding him close and refusing to relinquish their sturdy form. Jaskier simply sighed, draping his arms around Geralt's shoulders as he combed nimble fingers diligently through his long white locks, already smoothing water through them in small puddles from his palms.

Geralt's hands massaged small circles across Jaskier's hips, calloused fingers tracing the dip of his spine and trailing droplets along his arch. The slow back and forth drag of fingers pulled a delicate purr from the bard's lips as they relished in each others company. Savoring the steady beat of each other's heart, Jaskier's was far faster in contrast of Geralt's butterfly flutter that jumped gently against his ribs.

"Mine." Geralt growled, a small possessive noise muffled against Jaskier's shoulder as the witcher suckled another dark bruise in the pale skin. Jaskier let out an amused laugh as he humoured his witcher, tipping his head to bare his flesh for the big bad wolf's consumption. Every pull and wet pop of Geralt's lips on his skin sent tingling sparks of excitement through Jaskier, easing a balm over the open wounds of his heart. They couldn't erase the pain he felt, but they soothed the burn and numbed the worst of the affliction. Only time could help the rest. Time and some very attentive tender companionship, which Jaskier was in no short supply of. 

He curled the long white locks around his finger, twirling them absentmindedly as he hummed a quiet melody in his throat. A new song already creeping along the edges of his mind, a tale that had yet to be written though the bard felt as if this one would be far too personal to share at a tavern. Maybe a lonesome evening when it is just him, his wolf and the starry night sky above.

Mournfully, they had to leave their bath when the water began to cool, but not before a quick thorough scrub down. Geralt's attentive fingers patted the bard dry with a towel while Jaskier squirmed beneath his weight on the bed, kissing his shoulders, his chest, his belly, his hips. Peppering those sweet dark bruises along Jaskier's body, thumbs brushing over the hard rosey buds on the bard's chest and giving them a gentle tease between his teeth. He drew away, tracing strong fingers along his thighs and smiling lasciviously down at him before parting wistfully.

Jaskier had shrugged on one of Geralt's overly large white shirts, letting the baggy fabric swallow him up in a devilish display of lewdness that the wolf felt compelled to devour. He behaved himself though, collecting their filthy belongings and patting them down to be cleaned properly come morning. The witcher was clad in only the tight leather trousers, his scarred shoulders on full display as they flexed and arched for his bard to see as he set to work scrubbing his equipment clean.

Geralt's lips quirked up in a smile of amusement as Jaskier stretched across the bed like a well ravished maiden, that needy pout pressed on bruised and beloved supple lips, tantalizing and taunting. Geralt let out a low rumble in his chest as he huffed. The bard smiled, a concealed note of trickery as he strummed a few cords of his lute, his spirits revived valiantly.

Geralt was halfway through his maintenance, Jaskier's eyes drooping as he flicked his fingers over the strings of his instrument, yawning like a small pup put to bed by its mother, when the wolf noticed something awry. A thunderous charge of footsteps pummeled the stairs up to the second floor, drawing the witcher to the defensive. His hand already reaching for the steel sword in his discarded scabbard leant against the wall when their door opened with a sudden jarring crack. Jaskier jolted on the bed as two mercenaries charged into the room with swords drawn, pressing themselves between Geralt and Jaskier before the witcher could move to intervene. A familiar weaselly voice crossed the air, plucking at a muscle of irritation that tightened in the witcher's jaw.

"Don't be brash Witcher." Ferrant clicked his tongue in disapproval, pushing into the crowded space to approach Geralt. "Julian, you look _well._ " That greasy smile lingered far too long on the bard for Geralt's liking. Ferrant dragged his attention towards Geralt, inspecting the witcher held at the end of a blade. "That's a good look for you Witcher but mind if I tweak it a little? Chains would be a lovely addition." He chuckled darkly. 

"What is the meaning of this?" Geralt demanded.

"You are under arrest for the abduction, imprisonment and rape of one Julian Alfred Pankratz. All punishable by death." Ferrant exclaimed, that slimy smile drew across his scruffy features. "This little _relationship_ you have here is an abomination against nature."

"Sort of like your face." Geralt chuckled darkly, an amused curl of his lips just barely flashing sharp teeth. He was met with a harsh backhand across the cheek, though it failed to steal the look of amusement from Geralt's roguish features. "Last time I saw you, I could have sworn you pissed yourself at dinner. It's safe to assume those trousers didn't survive the evening then?" Another strike followed as fury raged in Ferrant's eyes. His face a dark shade of red that grew to something ugly and stark.

"On your feet criminal." Ferrant snarled, adjusted the sword edge until the tip pressed firmly against Geralt's adam's apple. Whatever sick game Ferrant was playing, or whatever convoluted desires he hoped to sate from the action, the stony stoic facade the witcher bore denied him the satisfaction he hungered for. Geralt rose to his feet and brandished his wrists to the man, the absence of fight obvious in his posture but he remained guarded still. All hard edges and wary angles as the shackles were placed on his wrists.

"Ferrant! Stop this right now!" Jaskier pleaded but his cousin refused. Whirling on Jaskier with a snarl of his own. 

"Shut up Julian. For once in your miserable life, do as you're bloody well told!" Ferrant growled, teeth bared in a wild eyed look that leveled on the younger Pankratz.

"It's alright Jaskier." Geralt assured, his voice smooth and steady even as Ferrant drove a fist into his stomach. Geralt didn't budge much, bearing the brunt of the blow with a grimace. "Pathetic." He hissed through his teeth, earning another hit for garnering Ferrant's ire.

"We'll see who's the pathetic one when you're swinging from a rope, mutant." Ferrant spat, turning an icy glare towards Jaskier that demanded obedience. The bard was sullen in his approach, pausing only long enough to put a pair of pants on and his shoes. Ferrant waited impatiently before snatching the bard by his shoulder and thrusting him through the doorway first. The mercenaries led Geralt out, trailing behind their handler with sneers of disgust and breathy curses.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have finally reached the end. This was one of my relatively shorter long fics but it was still fun to write and I enjoyed it. Thank you all for following me along this far. I really appreciate every single one of the comments and kudos that encouraged and motivated me to keep writing this idea to the ending. 
> 
> I do hope this turned out well. I haven't slept at all yet and wrote this mostly in one sitting with hopes of getting it up for all of you. 
> 
> Thank you all once again! And I hope to see y'all on future fics. Enjoy!

It was apparent that Ferrant had entered the town like a tornado, thundering hooves of horses and a whole gaggle of mercenaries at his beckon call. It was enough to drag the folks still awake out of their homes and wake up their neighbors to see what was happening. A cluster of horses waited outside the inn in the streets, one of which had Roach already tied up to another's saddle. The anger that flowed through the witcher was barely concealed behind that hard facade. His lips pursed into a thin line, jaw locked tight as they were led to the center of town. Torches lit the area like an eerie ritual gathering as folks lingered, listening in to whatever extravagant excuses Ferrant had prepared for this newest stunt.

"Good people, I bring before you an abomination that dares walk this earth so freely." He gestured towards Geralt as the witcher's chains were dragged forward, forcing him to stumble into the opening. He bristled with an echo of unease. Too many people standing around, staring at him with those _eyes._ Those looks of horror and disgust. His fingers curled into fists, as the phantom warmth of Renfri's blood seeped into his skin. The trickle of Stregobor's harsh tone overlapping Ferrant's as he stirred the villagers against him.

He hid the pained expression that pinched his features, the anger that bubbled beneath prepared to burst forth. He tempered it with a cautious breath and forced himself to ease through it. To think rationally. He straightened up, chin held high as he turned into Ferrant's spheal about Geralt coming to this village years prior to unleash the wraith upon them to cover his tracks when he abducted young Julian from his family home. How he used _Witcher trickery_ on the boy to make him complacent and break his mind into a tool for consumption.

Geralt stepped forward, all power and fury when Ferrant grabbed Jaskier by his hair and nearly ripped Geralt's shirt off him to expose all the fresh dark bruises that covered his body. Jaskier scrambled to force his clothing back down as he hissed. "Ferrant this is ridiculous! Geralt is my traveling companion and he is an honest man unlike you."

"He's a lying mutant that cast spells on you dear cousin. He's even forced you to believe your name is _Jaskier_ and not _Julian._ " He countered.

"I picked that name when I left home. To get away from all of you! To get away from this! These bloody witch hunts and your jealousy!" Jaskier snapped, a rare form of anger rearing its head in the bard. His eyes narrowed on his cousin as he shoved the man away from him.

"Good people of this village-"

"The witcher killed Vikus!" Ferrant interrupted Jaskier, causing the bard to whirl on him. The crowd began murmuring now, their silence broken by outrage and so much fear, sour and pungent on the air. It was sickening, suffocating like a cloud of thick swamp gas rolling around him, clogging his lungs and strangling his airways with the vile stench. Geralt grimaced and wrinkled his nose, adjusting his stance for a fight to follow. His body wound tight, taut and uneasy with the building tension in the air. "He sought the reward but Vikus refused to give it."

"Preposterous!" Jaskier countered.

"Then how do you explain his death the night the Witcher came to town?" Ferrant challenged.

"You killed Vikus." Geralt interrupted, earning a sudden startled silence from the townsfolk. "You murdered him after finding Jaskier and I in the inn. When you discovered we were here for the wraith contract. I have proof that you lured Vikus to the mine with the promise of a meeting where you cut him down and left him for dead." 

The murmurs became louder furious chatter. Ferrant scowled at Geralt, stepping towards him with a silent challenge as his mercenaries drew their swords on the Witcher, leveling them on his back. Geralt ignored the twitch along his spine and the instincts that screamed at him to run and fight. The unpleasant quivering of muscles that jumped in his back, acknowledging the presence of foes that shouldn't be there. "What proof would that be?"

"A letter you wrote to Vikus. And of course that knife on your hip." Geralt tilted his head down to the worn old blade in the dark stained brown leather sheath. It was barely tucked out of view behind Ferrant's cloak but Geralt could smell the lingering scent of blood splattered on the leather. The roughened handle smoothed and faded from years of hard labor and harder use. Something that Ferrant's touch wouldn't know. He bore the hands of a spoiled noble who could barely wield a sword let alone would allow himself to sweat and toil in the long hot hours beneath a summer sun, working the earth and the bounty of the land for a few more coins and another bite to eat. A knife like that tells a vivid story, one that didn't belong to Ferrant. "You did a shit job washing the blood from it. You killed Vikus and took his knife."

"An elaborate plan, eh witcher?" Ferrant's voice rose among the crowd. A sudden desperation that demanded to be heard and believe. A hard press of syllables as he held his hands up, waving the blade dismissively in the air as if to prove some futile point. "I took this knife off the witcher myself when he was arrested. Right men?" Ferrant turned towards the mercenaries who chuckled darkly in nods and grunted confirmation. 

"That's a lie!" Jaskier blurted, rushing towards Ferrant as he wound his hands into his cousin's cloak and growled. "I don't know what they promised you in all this Ferrant but I swear by the gods, you'll get what's due and it won't be pleasant."

Ferrant smiled and let his voice drop low, almost too quiet to be heard but Geralt's heightened senses picked up every word loud and infuriatingly clear. "Come now Julian, smile and be obedient for once in your life. After all, the Witcher has trained you well. You're no good as anything other than being a whore that's told what to do. Nothing's changed at least." He squeezed Jaskier's jaw and forced him to watch as the mercenaries marched Geralt towards a large oak at the edge of town. Several more mercenaries followed behind with lengths of rope already prepared for the lynching.

The townsfolk parted like the tides, averting their gazes to avoid meeting those inhuman golden eyes. They hushed their tones in his passing, murmured under their breathes small prayers or vile curses. Geralt ignored them all, only acknowledging the sharp edge of a blade digging in his bare back and the mournful cries of the wind blowing through the trees, a rattle of wooden arms reaching out to embrace his corpse within their boughs.

"No! Leave Geralt out of this!" Jaskier cried, twisting in his cousin's grip to chase after them but Ferrant dug his fingers in the bard's hair and dragged him back with a venomous hiss.

"Forget about the Witcher and do as you're told." It was quiet and dark, bitten off in Jaskier's ear. The crowd watched in mixed contempt and horror as Geralt seemed to accept his fate. The graciousness of his behavior seemed to set his guilt in stone in their minds. The stoic expression etched upon his features only added to his inhuman nature and defied all logic and reason with death so close, breathing down his neck determinedly.

The moon hung ominously in the sky, a sad smile of a crescent peeking through the clouds, offering the smallest bit of light to guide them outside the torch lit paths of town. The wind picked up, whipping relentlessly as the flames blew out in one sudden unnatural gust. A roar pierced the air, the horses startled, bucking and rearing back, their eyes wide and wild with fear. 

Ferrant released Jaskier to grab for his sword, prepared for some damnable hellion from the bowels of the darkest depths. The villagers screamed and froze, heads whipping around frantically in search of the source as a cold chill rattled them to their bones. The mercenaries ceased their work, turning back to the village at Ferrant's scream of command. Geralt rushed back of his own will, his golden amber eyes fixed on Jaskier who raced towards him, now freed from Ferrant's hold. They collided gracelessly as Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt and halfway hid tucked against his side. The Witcher drew them away from the crowd as a beam of ethereal blue light manifested in the center of town, standing now where Jaskier had stood.

_"LIAR!"_

_"MANIPULATOR!"_

_"KINSLAYER!"_

_"YOU HAVE WROUGHT DEATH UPON THIS VILLAGE AND YOU SHALL SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES!"_

It took Geralt a moment to recognize the vision of Cynthia in all her human beauty wreathed in a halo of blue energy that manifested rage and demanded all watch. 

_"Listen well all of you! The man before you has shed blood countless times and claimed the deaths were at the hands of the Wraith of the Mine."_ She turned her attention towards the witcher who nodded in a small note of acknowledgement. She smiled, a gentle hint that bled the rage from her lovely features. Her voice softened as she gestured towards Jaskier and Geralt. 

_"These men speak the truth. Heed their words well as you shall heed mine. For I was the wraith of the mine but before that I lived alongside you all as one of you."_ She stepped towards the crowd, earning gasps and tremors of horror but with it came the soft murmurs of recognition as people whispered her name. Faint but there. _"Ferrant slew me in cold blood when I aided Julian in his escape from his family. He left me in that mine and collapsed it to hide the evidence. Then he killed young Vikus in an attempt to repeat past sins. Now he aims to kill the Witcher who saved all of you from his misdeeds."_

"Cynthia!" Jaskier's voice broke into the air, a brittle sound that could barely hold together. She turned with a graceful sweep, her dress dancing around her ankles in a nonexistent breeze. Her smile could compete with the glow of the moon as she beamed at the bard in his hesitant approach.

_"Julian, dear sweet Julian. Never change in all this world and may it never change who you are."_ She turned her eyes to meet Geralt's, a smug knowing look playing on her lips now, playful and teasing as she spoke lightly. _"Don't let anyone cage him Witcher. Or I'll return for you next."_

"You have my word, Miss Cynthia." He bowed, a humble and genuine gesture, which he did as best he could while both hands were shackled. She smiled, a final precious parting before fading away in the moonlight, leaving the village in utter darkness and silence.

It had not gone unanswered for long, Cynthia's promise and threat as the villagers quickly turned on Ferrant. The mercenaries were outnumbered and it forced them into a sudden retreat as a horde of angry irate villagers rose up. They rushed towards their horses, causing Geralt to jerk suddenly, racing after them as he worked up a quick cast of Aard, forcing them to stumble and fall, Ferrant among them. His bare feet beat the earth as he whistled. Roach yanked and pulled and bucked to keep the men from approaching in their flight, too afeared of being trampled by the upset mare.

He closed in quickly, hushing her with gentle familiar words as he yanked the rope free to release her from the other horse's saddle. He ran his palms along her neck in one smooth motion as she eased into the touch of her master. Geralt sighed in relief, turning as Jaskier joined him, apparently with the key he swiped from Ferrant's pocket when the man was down, and unlocked Geralt's restraints. The villagers took care of the rest, disarming and trussing up the men who couldn't escape, already discussing the justice they would face. The Lord be damned.

"Jaskier, are you alright?" Geralt wrapped the bard into a tight hug once his hands were free and pulled him snug against his chest.

"I'm fine Geralt." He said even as the Witcher started checking him over for any injuries, inspecting his jaw and neck where Ferrant had grappled him. Jaskier gave a weak but gentle laugh. "I promise. My heart weeps but my legs are strong." It was as poetic as the bard was going to get in his state, still obviously shaken up by the whole ordeal if his trembling hands and unsteady voice were anything to go by. His gaze kept dropping, avoiding Geralt's eyes but the witcher didn't demand his full attention. He knew Jaskier had more important worries on his mind.

"I'm glad you're okay." It was genuine, a rough rasp of relief ghosting out of Geralt's chest as he sighed, letting the bard melt against his chest and sag in his embrace. Neither cared that they were still in full view of the townsfolk and none of the folk seemed to mind the display of affection. Maybe they chalked it up to two old friends narrowly avoiding death together, or maybe they genuinely didn't care what two men did in the privacy behind closed doors. Some towns did, some didn't. It was a guessing game more often than not, of which would earn you a blade between the ribs and which would get you another ale in the tavern.

"Witcher." The voice was familiar, sharp and drawn out pointedly. Geralt turned his gaze to eye the innkeeper who stood near Roach's flank. The man ignored Jaskier's figure tucked against Geralt's side, even as the bard hid his face into the crook of the witcher's neck. Geralt didn't lessen his protective hold on the younger man and grunted towards the innkeeper to continue. 

"We owe you a debt of gratitude. Ferrant and his thugs have been a thorn in our sides for many years but now we have ample proof and opportunity to get rid of their lot for good." He withdrew a pouch from his pocket, it was large and hefty with coin. "Here, Vikus' sister Victoria had kept the reward money her brother left in his passing. Others have added to it and wished for you to have it for bringing justice to the dead."

"I can't possibly take it." Geralt shook his head, a small dismissive wave of his hand in refusal.

"We insist. Especially with all the trouble it caused you. Please, here." He offered it again, but this time not to Geralt. The pouch went to Jaskier's hand instead as the bard accepted it in Geralt's stead. Geralt scowled but it held no real heat in it. "You're welcome to have another night in the inn, on the house of course."

"Thank you." Jaskier piped up, a gentle noise in his throat as he cleared the rawness away. He pulled on that dignified air of a proper young man that he carried so confidently in all their travels. That winning smile peeking through his lips as the innkeeper made a short farewell and headed off to help deal with the recent mess. Jaskier tossed the pouch in his hand, feeling the weight hit his palm as he hummed. "Might be enough in here to replace your traveling cloak and pay for our supplies until the next contract."

"Hm." Geralt hummed, keeping one arm locked around Jaskier's waist as he steered them back towards the inn. His free hand holding Roach's reins as he led her back to the stall she had been occupying for the night.

"And get a new set of strings for my lute."

"Mmhmm."

"And a new song journal. Mine's almost full."

"Hm."

"Geralt, you never cease to impress me with your extensive vocabulary." Jaskier jested, swatting him on the chest to garner his full attention. 

"I aim to please." He countered, a devilish look glistening in his eyes as he winked at the bard before drawing away to get Roach settled in her stall. Jaskier leaned against the post of the entrance and sighed.

"You never told me you spoke to Cynthia." The words were quieter now but not accusatory. Just curious.

Geralt was quiet for a moment as he brushed Roach down and gave her some fresh water. He paused with his fingers coaxing through her hair and down her back. "She manifested in the mine and asked me to keep you safe. She was happy seeing you happy. Knowing you weren't alone anymore."

"I see." Jaskier sighed, scrubbing his fingers through his hair as he turned away, casting a wayward glance back towards the town and the ample torchlight now flickering in the night.

"Jaskier?" Geralt called, a delicate rumble in the air. The bard fidgeted in place and sighed, turning a carefully constructed smile on the witcher, hiding the sadness in those wistful blue eyes.

"Come on then, Geralt. We better get to bed unless you'd rather sleep with Milady Roach this evening." He stepped towards Geralt and nudged him with his hands, furling fingers over his shoulders and outlining the hard ridge of muscle coiled tightly along his back.

"Hmm I might have to think about it." Geralt hummed, letting the bard drag him away from the stall and into the warm light of the inn

"Careful, you wouldn't want to strain yourself." Jaskier teased, dropping his hand to envelope Geralt's splaying his fingers over the witcher's palm as he purred in his ear. "Mine." He pressed a kiss to Geralt's cheek as they crossed the threshold. The door falling closed behind them as the witcher wrapped a possessive arm around Jaskier's waist and growled in approval.


End file.
